The unctuous sales pitch droned on and on; the view’s fantastic, the location amazing, nothing like it on our books, yadda yadda yadda.

Seething, a sarcastic ‘shaddap your face’ nearly escaped, for cloying words don’t suck me in. Those pristine silica sands, that shimmering turquoise sea; they won’t seal the deal. After all who turns their back on the shabby reality of this fixer-upper of an apartment?

“Annie and I need to talk,” Mitch said. Uriah Heep’s doppelgänger took the hint and went next-door for a coffee.

“I said this would be crap, Mitch.”

“Worth a look, babe. Bigger than that apartment near your parents.”

I shivered; the air-con wasn’t a weakness. “Yeah. But that one’s neat and tidy. Close to good schools.”

“More potential here. A lick of paint, new bathroom and kitchen. Imagine the capital gain.”

“I know a first home’s a compromise. Let me think for once.”

Nabbing the only chair on the balcony, I left Mitch inside Googling. Not doubting he’d conjure up a sensible sounding plan. The renovation costs, bigger capital gain, his insistent logic sure to tap away, woodpecker-like, at my brain.

Convinced, I just knew he would say, ‘Value for money. That’s what we agreed, Annie.’

Sinking into the hot vinyl seat, the Aviator’s perched on my nose shade the sea’s wicked glare. Late spring, yet the heat’s relentless; first baking me toasty warm, then drawing beads of sweat that zeroed, perv like, into the valley between my boobs.

It’s always bloody logic. Perhaps he’d understand if I told him the staff room gossip. ‘You know what they whisper about northern beaches schools, Mitch?’

‘Yeah. That’s right, babe. The kids too distracted. Rather be surfing. Or doing drugs.’

But he’d be like, ‘we don’t have children yet.’

Unease isn’t practical; not a word that Mitch could wrap his mind around.

Then, always the English teacher, onomatopoeia called to me, drawing my eyes over the balcony and down to the flip-flops that echoed out of the apartment below.

My breath caught; for four long, sun-kissed legs stretched from those flip flops. The two women’s languid strides took them towards the beach. Beneath the pinch of their waists, derrieres curved outwards, then turned inwards in a tight peachy circle.

Though, on closer examination, one posterior was more like a firm upside-down heart, attractively fuller at the lower part of the hips.

Between firm glutes, no doubt hardened by surfing on the boards they carried under their tattooed arms, ran wafer-thin slivers of material. Given I’m so insistent about clichés with students, the irony of thinking candy floss thongs wasn’t lost on me.

Their long hair, one dirty-blond like mine, the other coal-black, spilt over their shoulders. And a fair way down their backs, enough for me to chastise myself, slapping my palm against my knee, when I illicitly wondered if they were topless.

“What are you thinking?” Mitch asked as he stepped onto the balcony.

Oh God, I could hardly say ‘nothing, babe.’ Nor shock Mitch by mentioning what I wished I could do, a longing that had glued my knickers against my sex.

I just had to say something, anything. “Um. Do you really think this has potential, babe?”

********

Waking in the fuggy early morning, I watch the slow rise and fall of Mitch’s chest; totally appreciating him for helping dot the i’s and cross the t’s on our summer project. We’re determined to modernize this fixer-upper of an apartment, though getting it done and maximising the capital gain falls to me, as I’m the one on vacation.

He’s not totally somnolent, morning wood having risen with the sun. My hand slides slowly up and down, savouring the familiar feel of soft velvet skin covering delicious hardness. Squeezing, just enough pressure to rouse him; knowing that, although half asleep, he will recognize the drill.

And Mitch does; rolling onto me, holding his body on his elbows and unerringly impaling me on his shaft. One hand then cups my breast.

Grunting as he stretches my gripping pussy walls, we are quickly into our morning routine; he rolls and pinches my nipple as he thrusts in and out of my bucking sex. Tongues swirling in his mouth, my hands grip his arse as he pounds me.

Timing it perfectly, I squeeze out a cum just as his seed explodes in me.

It’s so rare he’s away with work but he is tonight.

“My boss’s bad-arse secret Santa surprise,” Mitch says as he leaves.

“I’ll be okay, only twenty-four hours sweetheart.”

I spread old sheets over the newly installed benchtop and Miele appliances. When today’s painting is done, our kitchen will be complete just in time for Christmas.

It’s always three hours toil before I allow myself a coffee break. With the first coat drying, I saunter into the café next door expecting the barista’s dark eyes to flitter over me from under her long eyelashes.

Jude’s eyes light up when she sees me. She always does mornings and is none other than the dark-haired woman with the cute upside-down heart-shaped butt, who I had noticed when Mitch and I first saw the apartment.

She’s such a multitasker, always observing and keeping up a stream of banter while frothing milk for my cappuccino.

“Painting, Annie?”

“You psychic?”

“That, or the paint in your hair.” Another dimpled smile; she’s pretty, though she likes to mask just how pretty she is.

“It’ll wash off; acrylic. Second coat after coffee and the kitchen’s done.”

“Come swimming then; let’s celebrate by getting wet together.”

That’s so her; she’s been wooing me from the get-go. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she had said when I first called her out for flirting with a married woman. She wasn’t embarrassed, just held my gaze knowingly.

I had rolled my eyes; she had smirked and said, “Surprised I knew my Chaucer, Annie?”

And in truth, I had been surprised. Not expecting someone whose take on beach culture seemed more like a potty-mouthed strumpet, to enjoy the dead white men canon as I did. That was the first time the thought moth and flame crossed my mind.

“You can have fun while Mitch is away,” Jude says, interrupting my thoughts.

“Want to see the kitchen?”

“Sure. I’ll come upstairs at two.”

The painting is finished when she knocks on the door. My breath catches as I let her in. A micro bikini-thong and crop t-shirt aren’t about concealment.

Helping me remove the paint-splattered sheets, Jude and I unveil the new kitchen.

“Fuck, Annie.”

“Is that a request? Or comment on my interior decorating?”

She giggles. “Fucking good job, Annie.”

“Thanks. Thrilled I got it done for Christmas.”

“Feels good completing your Christmas wish list, doesn’t it?”

“I’m hoping it will.”

“Let’s get wet then.”

“You mean you’re not already.”

Leaving her speechless, the first time I’d done that, I head to the bedroom.

“You a Tigerlily or Wicked Weasel kind of girl?” Jude calls out, as I open my bikini drawer. Immediately aware that my only Wicked Weasel bikini is secreted, like a dirty magazine, beneath my Tigerlily bikinis.

“Like both.”

“Tigerlily’s too teenager for me. Got to go with the Weasel; we’re past running from our sensuality, don’t you think?”

“I guess.”

Mitch would so agree. My Weasel was his Valentine’s Day gift last summer. Much more risqué than the bikinis he usually saw me in, he’s now constantly daring me to parade around in just the micro thong. And, just for him, I do; flaunting my body, knowing it brings his carnal desires to the boil.

It dawns on me that the seditious minx is setting me up, implying I’m hiding from my sensuality if I don’t wear the Weasel. Two can play those games.

Wiggling into the form-fitting micro-thong I call out, “Hey, are you comfortable topless. Or still a bit of a textile?”

Credit to Jude, she tries hard but can’t suppress a giggle. Then replies, “Guess that makes it two-one, Annie.”

We both know its game on. As I emerge from the bedroom, her eyes travel languidly up my body, taking in my black bikini-thong and black t-shirt on which ‘Trouble’ is emblazoned in red.

She smirks as she watches me place my rings on the new benchtop, surely seeing the diamond Mitch gave me sparkling in the sun.

I feign disinterest, and we soon are flip-flopping across the beach and dumping our towels next to two women; their topless bodies disporting numerous piercings and tattoos.

Jude introduces Pricilla, the dirty-blond I had seen her with when Mitch and I first looked at the apartment. And Monique, the redhead I had occasionally seen emerging from Jude’s apartment. Well, more accurately, the most strawberry coloured of her stable of redheads.

Their eyes survey my body as I slip off my t-shirt, no doubt comparing my tan lines to their totally bronzed tits. Fresh meat is the vibe they give off, more so when Jude and I emerge from the sea, water dripping off our firm nipples and wet thongs moulded to slits.

Monique flirts like a toddling young filly, not quite yet coordinated nor elegant. Quickly into my personal space, she amuses Pricilla with the gaucheness of her raw desire. Not Jude though, and following one stern look, Monique backs off.

Pricilla is quick to soothe Monique’s injured pride, whispering in her ear and before long they busy themselves by sucking each other’s face.

Which leaves me free to observe the queen bee’s technique.

Jude’s always been cat-like, stalking me one step at a time; sly looks, increasingly flirtatious comments. Today her arc is spiralling tighter, adding little touches, whose frisson goes all the way to my pussy. She doesn’t know that of course; I imagine she thinks I am just another doe caught in the headlights of her lust.

Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

So, when her tongue snakes out and licks my ear lobe, I let myself appear startled, allowing her to imagine she’s got away with an intimacy. But she’s wise to my game. I lean back and she trickles a handful of warm sand onto my stomach, whispering, “You’re just toying with me, aren’t you?”

“I call it building anticipation.”

“Fuck, Annie.”

“About time you realised who’s on my Christmas wish list.” I slip my t-shirt on and head towards her apartment. She catches me up just as I get there.

Jude’s apartment door slams behind me and her hungry eyes are right there, in my face. Stoking her desire, I step back. And she immediately steps closer. Stepping back again my back presses against the door.

Black nails reach talon-like and rend my t-shirt asunder revealing my reddish nipples, now stiff and pointing up. I sigh, my head rolls back against the door exposing my neck. Jude’s teeth scrape across my neck, marking me, before licking down and around the curve of my breast, circling inwards to teasingly coat my areola in saliva.

She slurps my nipple into her mouth, seemingly savouring my sweaty sea-salt taste. I whimper as her teeth press softly into my nipple. And squirm with her firmer bite, that throb flows straight from nipple to clit.

As her teeth press hard into my other nipple, her hands pull down on my bikini-thong. It sticks momentarily against my wet folds before popping free. Cupping my mound, a finger slides through my silken wetness.

I watch her suck that finger into her mouth.

Impatient now she’s tasted me, she pushes her bikini-thong down with a shimmy of her hips and pulls her t-shirt over her head. The molasses-like scent of her arousal is overpoweringly intoxicating.

On her knees, her flat tongue swirls over my perineum, rasps up through the folds of my now soaking pussy and flicks my clit coating it with my juices. My hands grasp her head, smearing her mouth with honey as I press my needy sex onto her face.

Again and again, her tongue rasps up through my oozing pussy and my whimpers turn into moans. And when she slurps my clit, my grinding is accompanied by a scream of, “Yessss…”

Two fingers curl into my slippery pussy, as she relentlessly suckles my clit. She’s good, quickly finding my sensitive spot. The intensity builds till it overwhelms me; I buck my slit into her face, pull roughly on her hair and explode in a screaming orgasm.

Sliding down the wall, legs splayed, pussy weeping, breath ragged, I can’t do more than sit and stare at her.

She steps back into the living room and sprawls on the couch, her pussy pouting and glistening. “Wanna feed,” she hisses.

So fucking wanton, a pussy oasis in monogamy’s desert.

Energised, I crawl over to her, spread her legs wider and press my curled tongue into her viscous pussy. That taste awakens me from my hibernation. Wanting it all, I switch between penetrating her opening and licking her clit. Staccato tongue fucking. Sensual lapping. Intense clit flicking.

“Fuck, you little bitch,” she screams, giddy with the sensory overload, as I take her folds between my lips and shake my head puppy-like. Having conjuring a rush from deep in her core, she grabs my head with her hands, smacks her pussy against my sticky face and comes with a bloodthirsty scream.

She looks down at me with a dimpled smirk as I suck her creamy juices into my mouth. When done, I smirk back. Jude leans towards me and our lips meet. A first kiss always feels more intimate when cum-honey is smeared on each other’s lips.

More snuggly kisses generate little giggles. Barriers are shot, something magical is afoot.

Taking my hand, Jude leads me to her bedroom. She takes a Mary Poppins's bag from her wardrobe and dumps its kinky contents on the bed. I spy clamps, anal beads, strap-ons and does of various sizes.

Picking up a thick pink strappy, I suggestively run my hand up and down, whispering, “Taking me isn’t a liberty many are allowed.”

“Fuck, you know how to push my buttons,” Jude says, as she grabs the strappy from me.

With the pink strap-on protruding lewdly from her crotch, Jude presses me onto all fours. Then deftly penetrates my slick opening with the tip of the strappy. Smacks of her palm across my arse cheeks make me whimper in anticipation, my pussy dripping even more when she reaches forward and wraps her hands in my blond hair.

My head snaps back and she just takes me. Stretching my velvet walls and drawing a scream from me as she plunges deep. She then pauses for a moment, waiting and waiting; my frustration growing.

“Say it,” she orders.

“Please! Please! Fuck your little bitch.”

“Yes,” she screams, and starts pounding and stretching my velvet walls, her sweat dripping onto my back, my juices dribbling down my legs. She slams the strappy deep and hard. Repeatedly. Relentlessly. We’re rutting like animals.

I’m bucking back, impaling myself, pressing the strappy base against her sex. All the time she holds my hair for leverage and jackhammers the toy into my quivering love-hole. Taking me. Using me. Just fucking me.

The intensity ratchets up and up until it boils over and I, followed by her, explode in crushing rolling orgasms.

And collapse on the bed, bodies entwined, a panting satiated mess. I feel totally and utterly mated for the first time in ages. Well temporarily satiated, with Jude I’m betting slaked desire has a pretty short half-life.

“Magical,” she says, “Seriously good.”

“I know,” I say, as I snuggle, sleepily, into her arms, “Scary really.”

She’s still sleeping, curled around a wrecked sheet, when I wake. Her breast trembles, jelly-like, as she slowly breaths. The rest of her surfer’s body is exquisitely taut, that sculptured look a tad undermined by the dishevelled hair and pussy-honey smears on blotched makeup.

Her morning-after fuck-face is so wanton, so fucking gorgeous.

Inhaling, my nostrils twitch; last night’s mating stench still wafts through the room. As she rolls on her back, the stained sheet slips from her waist. Her pussy’s crusty, a heady mixture of my dried saliva and her dried juices.

One eye opens and Jude focuses on me staring at her. She smirks, all confidence, as she slides a finger through her slit. And paints my lips with her strong stale morning juices.

“You really are a slut, aren’t you, Annie?”

She knows, she’s got me bang to rights. My traitorous pussy didn’t keep any secrets from her yesterday. “I prefer the term, reformed sex addict. Did the counselling before getting married.”

I had promised Mitch I would seek help after he found a few guys’ explicit texts on my phone. I had claimed it was an addiction, to give me a patina of illness. And to be fair, I’ve kept my promise never to fuck other guys. Just never told Mitch I used to adore fucking girls too.

That first coffee Jude ever made for me, included a familiar glint in her eyes. Lust, but not just any old lust; hers was a pure and refined lust. That glint used to be mirrored in my eyes when I was out hunting pussy and my eyes lighted on a girl who really made my pussy perspire.

“Asking for your money back, sexy?” Jude says, getting on all fours, her breasts hanging down, swaying, her nipples delicately bumping along my inner thigh.

“No. For Mitch, the counselling succeeded. I’ve never fucked another guy.”

Jude giggles, “You’re even more licentious than me. So need you in our fuck-buddy coven.”

Worshipfully dipping her head, her nose scraps across my clit as her tongue wiggles into my crusty folds which instantly liquify.

She swings her body over mine, her sex hovering above my face as her fingers trace my slit, scooping honey from my wet folds and lubricating my sensitive clit. Entranced by her pretty folds, all sticky and pouting, I cup her arse cheeks in my hands and press her oozing slit against my face.

I paint a snail’s trail of spit up across the musky ridges of her arse-hole and perineum. Then mix my spit with her juices as my tongue delves into her wonderfully slippery folds; a taste that I didn’t realise I had desperately missed until I re-discovered it last night.

Both of us lapping and sucking, we smear our faces in each other’s honey. The room is suddenly hotter; we quickly work up a heady mix of body fluids. Tugging on slick folds, nibbling on clits, flicking pungent rosebuds, we soon bring each other to the edge.

She slows teasingly. I whimper into her pussy. And then she suddenly slurps on my clit. My scream resounds in her pussy as I cum in a shuddering sticky mess. That triggers her and she gushes a little as she cums, her creamy juices overflowing my mouth and dribbling off my chin.

We snuggle, but not for long. She heads for the shower; leaving me oozing juices on what was the remaining clean bit of sheet. Picking up my phone, I call Mitch. And tell him I’ve missed him the last twenty-four hours. But, I add, the really good news is that the kitchen is perfect.

My excitement, though, is tinged with a little melancholy.

“Everything okay, Annie?” I look up at Jude’s sparkling dark eyes and toned tattooed body. Her clean look and scent scream at me; triggering a repressed need to defile.

Rolling onto my front, I press my face into the stained and fragrant sheet and slide my knees under my waist. With hips in the air, I decadently offer a choice of love-holes for her to ravage.

“All’s good. One before you go, lover?”

She giggles delectably. “Love to, but I’ve got a café to open.”

“Later then?”

“Monique is coming over at two. Bring your toys, she’s very willing and loves double penetration, if you’re into that.”

I used to be as it happens. Jude sees me nod and, following a kiss promising future debaucheries, the door slams behind her.

Showering doesn’t cleanse me of sin but does wash away much of the evidence. And then I head upstairs, knowing I have to impress Mitch with the results of six hours hard work so he doesn’t notice I’ve got my fucking life back on track.

********

Jude smiles as she opens the café, overwhelmed by her spell’s success.

The first day Jude had served Annie coffee she wondered if Annie was giving off the vibe of a girl who needed the sapphic in her life. Being a good witch, Jude wouldn’t use magic to ensure Annie chose her.

However, a little spell on Mitch’s boss was another matter. Sending Mitch away gave Jude time enough to give Annie the gift of Christmas seduction.

But Jude the hunter hadn’t expected to become the hunted. That was more magical than any of her spells. Annie was just the perfect inductee into her fuck-buddy coven.